Drink Me Down
by illocust
Summary: Keith and Shiro have a very special bond. They give and receive comfort in ways that outsider will just never understand. It works for them, though, and really isn't that all that matters?
1. Chapter 1

_**Note:**_ _Sometimes you've just got to say fuck it and write with no shits given. Thank you to those of you who chatted with me about this idea. You know who you are, and you should know I'm nearly done writing a part 2 that goes darker._

 _ **Summary:**_ _Keith and Shiro have a very special bond. They give and receive comfort in ways that outsider will just never understand. It works for them, though, and really isn't that all that matters?_

 _ **Warnings:**_ _Underage, Male Lactation, No Sex_

* * *

 _ **14**_

There is quite the shiner decorating Keith's eye, already puffed up and ready to turn a nice shade of black. His classmates are going to give him hell because of it. They all saw the fist fight, the instructor that had to pull Keith off the other cadet before he started spitting teeth. The only reason Shiro didn't get another stern talking to in Iverson's office is that despite the one sided nature of the results, Keith wasn't the first one to throw a punch. Thus the shiner.

They've got a weekend until the next class. Maybe he and Keith can sneak off base for a trip to the mall. Pick up some concealer to hide the worst of it, but would Keith even wear it? Shiro has too. It's just about the only way he can stop the bags under his eyes from advertising his lack of sleep to his superiors. Keith though, has an image. Not an external one, but an internal one. It helps him cope to pretend he doesn't care what the other cadets are saying, and doing something to cover up what happened would go in direct contradiction to that.

Shiro sighs, and plops down on his bed. Starting the process of unbutton his uniform jacket. Figuring out how to convince Keith will have to wait until later, right now he has a very upset cadet, who needs comfort and won't admit so on his own.

"Come here Keith," Shiro makes sure to keep his tone as a request and not and order. Keith's eyes flit down to his slowly revealing undershirt, then back to Shiro's face, questioning. It's a sadly familiar expression on his face. Keith's lost so much, he's always waiting for something else to be snatched away. On edge, prepared in case this is some long form joke, meant to be published on the Internet for his humiliation. If it wouldn't be taken the wrong way, Shiro would laugh at the idea. Keith's not the one with everything to lose if this got out. Golden boy status doesn't protect you from scandals like this.

Keith inches towards him slowly, muscles tense, like a feral cat ready to run at the first wrong move. Shiro tries to keep the sadness away from his encouraging smile, freeing the last button then letting his hands fall limp at his sides. Visible and non-threatening. Keith needs to move at his own pace, forcing him quicker would never work, and honestly Shiro would never want to try.

Warily, Keith crawls into Shiro's lap. Hands hesitantly raising to touch Shiro's pecs through his cotton white undershirt, "It's okay, Keith," Shiro says softly, "Take what you need." Shiro doesn't move, but Keith does. Grabbing the edge of his shirt and pulling it up to reveal Shiro's bare skin. His nipples are noticeably redder and more swollen than they should be. Keith isn't surprised by the sight, and why would he be? He knows exactly how they got that way.

A small pink tongue peeks out to lick soft lips, then Keith's leaning forward and latching on. Shiro takes in a sharp breath, as Keith sucks out the first little squirt of milk. It stings something fierce. His nipples weren't optimally designed for a teenage boy's cravings for one of the deepest intimacies. They've been put through the ringer recently, and it will be a while yet before they toughen up enough to take the repeated attention without soreness. Still he wouldn't trade this feeling for the world.

Keith's not just suckling a sub-par amount of milk from him. Each hard drag, is pulling comfort from himself to Keith. Drawing nourishment from his body to satisfy not Keith's physical hunger, but to fill that little pit of scared loneliness in him with the bone deep knowledge that Shiro will give him everything, even the product of his own body, so that he'll know someone cares.

Keith's muscles are relaxing against him. His upper body slowly slumping more and more of his weight against Shiro's chest, "Can I hold you?" Shiro asks. Keith's eyes flutter open, narrowing for a second. Even as the hypnotic rhythm of drinking Shiro down takes hold, his guard is still up. That's okay. Someday, Keith will feel safe enough to trust Shiro completely, and it will mean all the more for the time spent earning it. Keith doesn't let go, but deliberately nods his head before closing his eyes.

Shiro lifts his hands from the bed and wraps his arms carefully around his sweet boy. Gingerly he lays them back. Keith nursing pleasantly on top of him, and lets himself drift to the sensation of being milked dry.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Note: Because I'm impatient, you get this tonight instead of tomorrow. The next part will be probably be longer though, so it may take me a couple days to complete. In the mean time enjoy._**

 ** _Summary: Nothing in life is stagnant. That includes Shiro and Keith's relationship._**

 ** _Warning: Underage, Male Lactation, Hand Jobs_**

* * *

 **15**

Someone in the higher echelons must have their retirement funds invested in printer ink, that or alcohol. It's the only possible explanation for how much paperwork he's expected to do in a day. Surely he would have noticed if every member of his chain of command was secretly a masochist. Then again, how many of them would believe the things he got up to behind closed doors? You never could quite tell what got someone's rocks off from just looking at them. Speaking of which, "Keith," Shiro sighs, looking down at his number one have to see to believe secret.

Keith blinks up innocently from where he feeds on Shiro's tit. Like he doesn't have the faintest idea what he's done to garner Shiro's ire. That round little ass that's been wiggling persistently against Shiro's clothed cock? No, no, that must belong to someone else. Keith is guileless and without ulterior motives.

"If you can't behave, I will make you sit on the bed until I'm finished," Shiro warns. Keith's nose scrunches up, before he closes his eyes with a huff, giving a particularly hard suck for emphasis. He's pouting, and that's almost enough to make Shiro put down his pen and give Keith the attention he so obviously wants. But Shiro needs to finish filling out this report. The test flight was a big deal. This document will be circulating far above his head, and he can't wait until the last minute and risk some Admiral seeing him use the wrong 'there'. It's just not an option right now.

Keith seems to have settled anyways. So reluctantly, Shiro turns his mind back to his work. The left thruster had been a little janky, hadn't it, or was it the controls themselves?

He gets three minutes of peace. Then, when he's trying to think his way out of using the word 'responsive' for the third time in a paragraph, he feels it. Two pert little mounds slowly shifting side to side over one very sensitive target. Shiro grits his teeth and wills his blood to flow in more useful directions. No dice, it seems no amount of practice will let him master that particular art. Shiro lets out a sigh, dropping his pen to roll off his desk into the abyss of all lost things along with his self-respect. The report will have to wait. He really should have known better. He'd been gone for a week. Had he really thought Keith would accept him multitasking work with their one on one time?

Shiro pushes away from the desk, chair screeching across linoleum. Then stares down at the boy in his lap, "I get the feeling you want something," Shiro says, with maybe just a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

They both know what Keith wants. It's a very specific something, that Keith has spent quite a bit of time worming his way into. No, he's not lying to make himself sound less culpable. Shiro really hadn't planned for this to happen. He wasn't some dirty old man who rated all the new cadets on a scale of 1 to 10. This had come from an innocent place of wanting to help. It had been about comfort, giving and receiving. It still was, despite the development, and despite what others might think if they saw. Keith was just very persistent about getting what he wants, and Shiro, Shiro has never really learned how to say no to him.

Pink lips pull away from his chest with a smack. There is a shine to them he could almost convince himself has a white tint. That's from him. Keith's lips are wet with the product of Shiro's body. A single drop starts to form, to roll down his-Two thunks in quick succession make Shiro jerk. Keith's kicked off his shoes without bothering to untie them.

Keith's nimble fingers are already undoing his own belt. Shaking and wiggling precariously on his perch. Trying to pull pants and underwear down slim hips in one impatient go. Shiro throws an arm around his shoulders before he can slip. Steadying him, Keith smiles up at him knowingly. He's perfectly aware of the effect he has on Shiro. He counts on it, in fact, to make sure he gets his way. Keith flails his calves to get the offending clothing off the rest of the way, but Shiro can't focus on that anymore. Not with what Keith has just revealed to the open air.

This isn't the first time he's seen Keith like this. Much to his shame, this series of events has played out many nights before, but this is the first time he's seen Keith without a single follicle of hair adorning him down there. He's always been a hairy boy, hairier than Shiro was at his age for certain. Thick and black, it had made him look older. Made the stiffening in his own pants feel less wrong. Now, it's all gone. Shiro's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch the soft smooth skin where a happy trail once stood out proudly. Heat builds down low, as his fingers find their way to Keith's already hardening shaft, pink head barely beginning to peek free of its foreskin covering. There is nothing left to disguise how easily his small cock fits into Shiro's large hand.

"Do you like it?" Keith asks eagerly, crowding impossibly closer to Shiro. The rough cloth of his casual jacket against Shiro's bare abs.

Shiro's stomach flips, but its not in disgust, not at what Keith's presenting him, "I-I…" Words fail him. Praised for his ability to communicate clearly and encouragingly with others under the most stressful situations, and he can't think of a single thing to say in this moment.

Apparently, Keith doesn't need him to, "I knew you would," Keith says proudly. Like he knows exactly what makes Shiro tick, exactly how to best get under his skin. Maybe he does.

Violet eyes beam up at him with all the smugness of someone who has everything he wants wrapped around his little finger, and Shiro tightens his grip and pulls just to make him stop. The reaction is instantaneous, Keith moans and arches back against Shiro's supporting arm in a display that would make a porn star proud. Shiro has to look away. For his own sanity, to stop himself from creaming his pants right then and there, to keep one last boundary between them.

Keith doesn't need him to look. The sounds he makes are exaggerated, but that's more than enough to turn Shiro's cheeks pink. Keith squirms as Shiro's strokes him. Pushing his ass down against Shiro's crotch in way that has to be deliberate, "Keith please," Shiro begs. Pulling Keith's head to his chest and firming his grip on his small dick, in a bid to get him to sit still, "Just eat," Curl up and feed against him placidly. Stop trying to make this more.

There is a huff of annoyance, and then Keith precedes to be Keith. Following the letter of the request and ignoring the spirit. He eats, if you could call that much teeth and tongue eating. Nursing is soft, sweet, and Keith is being neither. Teeth bite and tug on his sensitive nipple. A small hand kneads the flesh of his pec, encouraging his milk to squirt out sloppily and dribble free onto sensitive skin for an eager tongue to lap up.

Shiro chokes down a whine. Don't encourage him. Just hold him close, and hold out for a little bit longer. Keith's stamina isn't that good. It's Shiro's only mercy.

Sure enough, it's not long until Keith's teasing turns to hot panting against wet skin. His 'playful' wiggling loses purpose, and nails dig into Shiro's back and front. Keith's breathing stops for one long second, then he's shooting white sticky strings into Shiro's hand, letting out one long shaky moan. Shiro holds him through it. Only adjusting to hug him tighter and press soft kisses into his messy hair, "There you go. You're okay. I've got you," Shiro whispers, until violet eyes flutter open with a newly sleepy smile. He makes such a sweet innocent image like this, Shiro could almost be distracted from the aching hardness between his legs. Almost.

He's careful not to touch anything with his cum covered hand, as he wipes Keith down with a few tissues from his desk. Keeps it clear as he carries Keith to his bed, wraps in him in blankets, and hands him a tablet to pick out a movie for them to watch together, "I'll be right back. Just have to clean up," He lies. Maybe Keith is sated enough to not to see right through him, and maybe Santa Clause is real.

His bathroom door shuts with a click, and Shiro is flicking open his fly as fast as he can one handed. He doesn't even properly shove down his pants, before he's wrapping a hand around himself. Keith's spendings are still there, sticky slick and a little wet, easing the way as he tugs on his painfully hard cock. Shiro bites his lip to stifle a moan.

This is his line. Out there it has to be about Keith. He can give into Keith's whines for touch. He can give Keith the pleasure and intimacy he needs, but he can't take from him. Out there, Shiro's cock has to stay firmly in his pants. His orgasm has to be denied. His animal brain forced to stop from using Keith like he so badly wants. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he crosses that line. If he took something from Keith he's not old enough to offer, but now Shiro's alone and the story is different.

It's just him, his hand, and his imagination in this room. If he's recalling how Keith's new shave highlights the brown pucker of his hole, if he's imagining how small and tight he'd be if Shiro pushed inside, how hard his struggling insides would squeeze Shiro's dick, it's okay. Because Keith's ass is sitting safe and unviolated on the other side of the door, and Shiro is in here alone. No one gets hurt. Shiro just lets off a little steam.

Shiro's hand moves fast, hard. Keith would feel so good. He's so tiny, always the smallest in his class. While his classmates shoot up in size, Keith stays the same. Shiro's dick would take up so much space in him. He'd be able to feel it, press his hand down on Keith's stomach and feel his dick fucking in and out of that body. Shiro knees are going weak, he has to brace against the counter, then shut his eyes when the mirror reflects his image back at him. He can't look at himself doing this.

Instead he thinks of Keith. How Keith would swallow his cock to the base. He's so stubborn, he'd practice and practice until he could deep throat Shiro with ease. His lips would go cherry red with the abuse, stretched so prettily around Shiro's cock, and when Shiro came, he'd coat that face. Let white globs drip from black eyelashes, framing mesmerizing violet eyes-Shiro's orgasm takes him quick, splattering over his bathroom counter and leaving him gasping.

It is a beautiful after glow, until it isn't. Until he's standing, softening dick in hand, trying to avoid his own grey eyes in the mirror. He washes thoroughly. Making sure every scrap of evidence swirls down the sink, before pulling up his pants. It's going to be okay. No one got hurt, and everything is going to be okay, as long as Shiro holds strong to his line.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Note: Phew, took a bit to get this all written. Things ended up going quite a bit darker than I originally intended, but it felt right for the story. I'll still probably have to make some adjustments for the next part. Which by the way, will be a couple days. Back to work tomorrow, and I can't write as much on weekdays.**_

 _ **Summary: Things go too far, and Shiro knows exactly who is to blame.**_

 _ **Warning: Male Lactation, Underage, Dub-con/Non-con**_

* * *

 _ **16**_

Shiro really needs a shower. He's hot, sweaty, and just went 6 rounds with a teenager on the Garrison's frankly disgusting gym mats. All he wants to do is step into the warm spray and deal with the problem hanging heavy between his legs. He's not a perve. It's adrenaline's fault. Adrenaline and the feeling of lithe muscles struggling beneath him every time he pinned Keith to the mat. Anyone would have a reaction to that, anyone. So yes, he wants to clean up and jerk off, but first he has to deal with the dark eyed cadet waiting impatiently for him to get his quarters unlocked.

At least Keith had agreed to wait, the way he'd been pawing at Shiro's shirt in the gym. Shiro had been terrified someone would walk in and ask what was going on. It wasn't Keith's fault. He always got worked up when they sparred. Shiro knew that. He'd also known how full his breasts were. He'd been the one who hadn't made time in the past day to milk himself or let Keith do it. How was Keith supposed to react when Shiro had massaged the aching flesh in front of him? He should have fed him before their practice. Then they could have both masturbated in their separate showers like normal friends.

The lock clicks open, and Keith is crowding him through the door without pretense. At least no one is in the hall to see. The door slams shut, and Keith's eyes are blown wide, black pupils eating away at violet irises. He's focused on the fat nipples visible through Shiro's tank. Licking his lips in hunger for more than just the hidden milk, "Bed," Shiro reminds him, walking backwards as Keith presses forwards. Keith doesn't care much about being in a comfortable position when his blood is up. In the past, he had been quite happy to take his meal standing up in a broom closet, humping Shiro's leg until Shiro was forced to stop him less both their uniforms were ruined. It's not his fault, he's a teenager, they aren't supposed to be good with consequences.

Gym clothes come off easier than uniforms. His tank is thrown over the back of his chair and his sneakers kicked off under the desk, by the time his calves hit the back of his bed, "No shoes on my blankets," Shiro says, and takes the few seconds Keith struggles out of his laces to get comfortable. Flat on his back, head on his pillow. It's the position that works best for them now. Keith's gotten too big to feed without bending into a pretzel in his lap, and laying on their sides inevitably puts Shiro's arm to sleep before they're done.

There is a growl of frustration then a thump. The bed dips beside him, and Keith is crawling over him. Lowering his hips to lay against Shiro's own. Shiro's breath stutters in his chest at the way Keith looks at him. Like prey. Something he wants to eat. No, no, bad thought. Shiro shakes the idea from his head. Keith's not the predator here, Shiro knows better than that, he has too. That way lies justifications.

It's natural, normal for them, to reach up and thread his fingers through Keith's dark shaggy hair. To rest his free hand on the toned muscles of Keith's waist, and to guide Keith down, to settle him fully on top of Shiro. He's so much heavier than when they met. No longer some scrawny kid in desperate need of red meat. He's all long limbs and compact muscle now, but the lips wrapping around Shiro's nipple are still soft.

The first sip, and Shiro is letting out a gust of air tinged with the barest moan. Relief, pure and simple. Like fizzy soda shaken then cracked open, Shiro's milk flows into Keith's mouth, taking it's aching pressure with it. Tiny sparks of pleasure follow. Lips gently tugging, squeezing his sensitive nub. Kitten flicks of tongue against the little milk swollen hole for no more reason than Keith can. Rough fingers drag up Shiro's sides, magnets that can't stop touching his bare skin even to move. One settles on each breast and kneads down, encouraging the milk to flow faster.

Shiro's hips jerk up without permission. Rubbing his erection against forbidden territory. Frick, no, he can't do that. One way street, this is supposed to be a one way street. He flattens himself back against the mattress, holds Keith closer to vent instead.

Keith has no such inhibitions. His hips rolling down in horrible, wonderful, friction. Shiro tries to shift them. Push Keith a bit to the side to grind against a thigh instead, but Keith's having none of it. Stubbornly resisting Shiro's hand. If anything he grinds harder.

"Keith," Shiro tries to hiss, but it comes out breathy instead. The hand not on the pec being fed on, stops kneading. It's a second respite for the sore tit, until thumb and forefinger pinch together on one red nipple, letting the white milk squirt free, "Keith!" Shiro shouts, bucking up in a mindless flail. It's not fair how good it feels for Keith to ride the movement. It's not fair that his legs part just enough on landing, for slim hips to wiggle between. It's not fair that worn gym sweats do nothing to hide the outline of Keith's erection rubbing against his own. Life's not fair Shirogane. Be the adult.

Keith shakes his head loose of Shiro's hold, surveys his handiwork with a Cheshire grin. Shiro's flushed clear down to his chest, and he can't catch his breath. His eyes almost cross when his other nipple is pinched hard and pulled just like the first. Like a cow, absurd, insulting, but true, grab his teats and milk him dry. Except a cow's milk is worth something. Keith's not even drinking his anymore, not collecting it for later. Simply letting it dribble free down the sides of his chest to soak into the blanket below. That hurts.

He's been holding Keith's hip. Minimizing how much he can move against him, but he has to let go to capture Keith's thin wrists. Leave him completely open to build the pleasure down there, so he can pull clever fingers free of their teasing up here. "K-k-keith," Shiro stutters, gasping, it's getting hard to think, to form words through the signals from stimulated cock to overclocked brain, "I need-ah, I n-need, I need you to s-stop," He pants.

Keith pauses, and Shiro's traitorous body screams for him to move again. To keep rubbing, growing that feeling tha-Keith grinds down, some unholy combination of whine and whimper claws out of Shiro's throat, "Why," Keith growls, "You want me." Want? Yes he wants. Wants him to keep going just a little more, then, no. Can't. Line. He has a line.

"We can't," It's wrong. Not with Keith. Not now. No, no, not never. He's the one responsible. Lips crash against his open mouth. Teeth clacking against teeth. Protests muffled by an eager tongue wiggling in to meet his own. It's sloppy and bad, but earnest. He takes too long to turn his head. He can hear the frustration rumbling in Keith's throat. Sharp teeth bite down on his ear, sending a spark of electricity straight to his messy cock, more precum drips free into the already damp cloth surrounding it. Shiro lets out a strangled noise. He's so close.

"I want you," Keith rasps, hot breath against Shiro's ear. He's not holding on tight enough. Keith's hand jerks free from Shiro's hold. Frying braincells don't pick up direction fast enough. Warm, soft, strong, wraps around his shaft, squeezes, strokes up. He moves to grab his hand again, to still it, but then that thumb rubs up under the head of his cock and Shiro's gone.

Pleasure breaks through him in an unstoppable wave. He cries out, arches under Keith. Shoots his sticky wet load into his underwear and onto Keith's hand.

…there is no afterglow.

Shiro blinks the sparks away, chokes on the air that is supposed to fill his lungs. Keith has sat up on top of him. He's looking down. Looking at where his hand is still wrapped around Shiro. Shiro throws him off.

Keith bounces on the bed as Shiro scrambles to his feet, stumbling, with blood pounding in his ears. What has he done? He had a line, one line, one rule. That was it. That was all he had to follow. Something sticky touches him. Keith wide violet eyes looking up at him. Keith's mouth moves, but Shiro can't hear him over the roar. Keith's touching him with a hand coated in Shiro's cum. He flees.

He can't leave the room. Not in his state. Someone will see, someone will ask questions. He locks himself in the bathroom instead. Leans against the door and tries to breath. The mirror is in front of him. It hides nothing. The wasted milk dripping down his side. The wet spot in the front of his sweats. Even the sex muss of his hair. Guilty, guilty, guilty. He went too far. Let them go too far.

How could he do this? He could have pushed Keith off, should have, why didn't he…because it was normal. Jacking Keith off was routine, letting him rut against Shiro while he ate. Fuck! Shiro slams his fist into the door. Someone squeaks on the other side. Shiro freezes. Keith.

"Shiro?" There's a warble to Keith's voice. Shiro backs away from the door. Predator, fucked up predator. That's what he is. Offer comfort, take sex. His back hits the towel rack, and he crumples to the floor. Digs his fingers into his hair. Shiro could have stopped him. When it became obvious that Keith wasn't eating, "..shiro?" The door knob jiggles but doesn't turn. He could have stopped things, but Shiro hadn't because he wanted this. Daydreamed about that body so many times. He'd let things go further because he wanted to feel Keith against him. He was responsible, "…I'm sorry…" Keith…it's not his fault, "Shiro, please! I'm sorry!" Shiro's paralyzed, looking up at the door. It might as well be a hundred miles away, housing the trials of Hercules. He can't go to it. Can't speak. Thump, scratch, something slides down the door, and Shiro does nothing.

He does nothing for a long time.

Eventually he gets up. Turns on the cold water and scrapes away the evidence. Warm water is for people who don't need to clean off shame. He tries to wash his pants, but the water spot just makes it all the more obvious what had happened. He pulls out some of his dirty laundry. It's cleaner than what he was wearing. He pull on a shirt from the laundry basket too. Short sleeves, why does nothing outside of his uniform have long sleeves? He hasn't even been trying not to encourage.

He stands in front of the door out of his small retreat for too long. He doesn't know what he is going to say, if Keith is even still there, but he has to pay the piper eventually. Shiro's hands still shakes as he undoes the lock. Shiro pulls open the door, and Keith scrambles to his feet. It's obvious he'd been waiting for Shiro. Holding vigil at the bathroom door for who knows how long, until Shiro came out again.

Keith makes an aborted movement to reach out to him, that dies nearly as soon as it starts, hands falling limply at his sides. He's wiped them clean since Shiro left, "I'm sorry," Keith whispers, and he's the smallest Shiro's seen him in a long time. Head hanging, eyes averted, whole form pulled in on himself.

"It's not your fault," Shiro's tone sounds monotone even to himself, but he feels drained. Unable to muster the energy for something more comforting, "Sit with me," Keith looks up at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Shiro motions for Keith to sit on the bed, then pull out his desk chair for himself.

Keith perches on the very edge of the bed, and he looks nothing more than like a very flighty bird. That's another look Shiro hasn't seen in a long time, "You're not mad," Statement, tinged with the barest hint of hope. His opinion means the world to Keith. That's the kind of power he holds over him. He can never forget that again.

"No, I'm not mad. You're not the one who messed up," Shiro sighs. The loss of air feels like it's deflating his entire core, but he pushes on, "We can't do this again." He's already proven he can't trust himself in the moment. The only safe thing to do is cut this off.

"Of course," Keith nods enthusiastically, "I'll keep my hands to myself. I'll just eat, and I'll never touch it again I promise." Keith says in a rush, eyes bright as if he's just been pardoned from an execution. He doesn't understand what Shiro means.

Shiro shakes his head slowly, "No Keith, we can't do this again, any of it." He gestures vaguely at his chest to get across his point. He'll still be Keith's friend, his mentor, but they'll have a normal relationship. One Shiro can't sully.

Keith's face crumples, "You said you weren't mad," His voice going wet, and that gnaws at Shiro's stomach, guilt.

"I'm not mad," He's not. He doesn't have a right to be.

"I can do better. I'll make up for it," Keith says, desperate, an inch from falling to his knees in front of Shiro, "Please, just give me a second chance."

"You don't need to make up for anything," Shiro says, this, this is spiraling out of his control, "You didn't do anything wrong." He couldn't. He was too young to know better. That was the whole point. He's too young to say yes, so how could he possibly be responsible?

"Then why are you punishing me!" Keith shouts, and there are the tears he'd heard coming. Keith's cheeks turn splotchy with them.

"…I'm not," It's weak, flimsy answer. It's not his goal. It's not about Keith.

"How?" Keith asks whisper quiet, and his face says it all. Shiro's all he has. His only person, and now he's taking away Keith's biggest comfort because Shiro fucked up.

He's making things worse.

Running away.

Took what he wanted, now the rest can burn.

Shiro stands up. There is a spare blanket in the closet, he grabs it. Keith's on his feet by the time he turns around, good, "Never again," Shiro says, stepping up to him, "You don't touch," Shiro begins to wrap the blanket around him, "You don't complain," Nice and tight, until Keith's arms are firmly trapped where they can't wiggle free. Shiro tilts Keith's chin up, thumbs away a tear track before looking deep into those violet eyes, "Okay?" Keith nods. Shiro works up a smile and kisses his forehead, "And not tonight." He sweeps the bundled up teen off his feet and tosses him onto the mattress.

Keith squawks, undignified in his predicament, and it makes Shiro's heart warm just the tiniest bit. He flips off the light, then crawls under his own blankets, an extra layer of separation before pulling his squirming bundle close. Keith stills in his arms, then snuggles in. This feels right. Like what they are supposed to be, before he let it get twisted by his own desires. He nuzzles the messy hair under his chin. Everything will be alright, Shiro wont' mess this up again.


End file.
